Page 59 of Carved in Ruin

“No,” he says, his gaze burning into mine. “Because I gave it to you.”

“Moya lyubov’.” I hiss at him the curse word he taught me.

I expect him to be angry, but he throws his head back and laughs. Fucker.

Twenty Seven

Barbed Cage

Mila

Iwake up tangled in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back. There’s a small thrill at knowing he doesn’t spend his nights somewhere else, doing god knows what—orwho. I’m getting used to falling asleep in his bed. I could take the cold, empty leather couch in the living room, but it’s never as warm as this. Instead, I end up here. I shove the thought away, carefully slipping out of his grasp. My feet hit the cool floor as I go to the bathroom and I shiver.

In the bathroom, I splash water on my face, scrubbing away the remnants of sleep. I brush my teeth with more force than necessary. When I step back into the bedroom, he’s still sprawled across the bed, his dark hair mussed against the pillow. I undress quickly, peeling off my tank top and shorts, reaching for a white blouse and my favorite skinny jeans. Yeah, skinny—outdatedor not, they do things to my figure that no wide-leg trend ever could.

I’m tugging on a pair of knee-high boots when I feel him.

I spin around, startled, and there he is, leaning casually against the doorframe, his dark eyes fixed on me.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, breathless.

“Long enough,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. Deep, gravelly—morning Rafael is dangerous. Heat pools low in my belly despite myself.

“Creep,” I snicker.

“Your husband,” he counters.

I swallow hard. Husband. It still feels strange. It’s a title I imagined so differently as a girl, and never tied to the web of complications he’s spun around me.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his tone deceptively casual as his gaze drifts over me.

“Out. Shopping with Katya, Yelena, and Sofiya,” I reply, pulling my coat over my shoulders.

“You were just going to leave without asking? Without telling me?”

“Rafael, this isn’t a cage, and you are not my father. I’m not asking for permission to step outside the damn mansion.”

He’s on me in seconds, his body heat overwhelming as he closes the distance between us. His voice is low, threatening in a way that makes my pulse jump. “You’re right. I’m not your father. I havemoreownership over you than he ever did. You don’t need to ask permission, but youwillinform me. Always. And you will never leave without guards.”

“Rafael—”

“And if I think where you’re going is dangerous, I’ll stop you.”

I clench my fists, frustration bubbling up. “This is ridiculous!”

“I’m compromising,” he says. “You don’t need permission. But youwillinform me. Our world isn’t safe,Kroshka. You know that.”

I hate that he’s right. The compromise isn’t as suffocating as I expected. Still, I can’t resist poking the bear. “Are you… concerned about me, Rafael?”

There’s a beat of silence, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Concerned about someone holding you over the Bratva’s head? Yes.”

The words are a slap, the sting immediate. The bloom of hurt in my chest spreads like wildfire. But I push it down, burying it beneath the fortress I’ve built to survive him. That’s all I’ll ever be to him—revenge or a technicality.

I force myself to nod. “Fine. I’ll inform you of my whereabouts.”

“Good girl.”

Fuck you, Rafael Ivanov.

---